Unintentional, but not unfortunate, Barley Quillen (?) pairing. It began as a drabble, inspired by old collab fanfiction and a certain comic scene between the two. I not only enjoy a Barry story, but I thought Ezra Miller's Barry especially would play a good submissive role without even trying. I left some things vague, in case you're going for Grant Gustin the cutie. We'll shake things up a bit with everyone's favorite, Harley "Mama gonna spank" Quinn! I do take character addition requests or suggestions, marthaplayer03 at gmail if you would like it to be private. Take care, babies!

xx

Barry would've easily confused the rugged old mattress and musky concrete smell for home and rolled over to go back to sleep, if it wasn't for being tightly shackled to the wall. His arms were starting to blister where the rust had been pinching his skin.

Echoes of laughter covered the pounding of footsteps. A figure appeared in front of him, her legs spread to show a shadow under her skirt. Chomping on her gum, spit flying down at him. Her leather boots tapping the tile.

His morning wood tensed up. As intimidated as he was, Barry tried to keep his eyes from drifting up her ruffled pantyhose. His clothes were soaking up more sweat than he's probably ever had in his 25 years.

Harley Quinn stared passionately at the young man. Sprawled on the floor with one of Arkham's old yellow-stained mattresses. The newspapers under his butt crinkled, waiting to drink his piss. He was too groggy to do anything but struggle in his shackles and watch her tits pour from her corset. She smiled, seeing him realize how small a big boy like him could actually feel. "Does my boy have a hangover?!" she cooed, putting her ass in the air to look down into his eyes. "Maybe I gave ya too much. Yeah, it was probably too much..."

He coughed awkwardly. His eyes widening from both the suggestion of roofies and the nipple ten inches away from his face. A sigh escaped him as she stood back up.

"A big mean batty," with a hand to her face in satirical disbelief, "stole my puddin'." She began marching back and forth between sentences. "I thought to myself: isn't it time to fuck with Bat for a change, teach him a lesson. How 'bout that?

"However... It ain't as easy as it sounds, sweetheart. We're talking 'bout the damn Batman. So I thought: how 'bout the next best thing, something he can't bear to lose, something he can't bear to see destroyed.

"Hmm, he already failed his birdie. We all know he loves you, although the squat can't admit it."

It was almost impossible to think with a pulsing cock, until she said something that got his attention. "So, ya little girlfriend had some trouble with my squad last night."

She reached into the thigh of her boot. Flying all over his lap and the mattress were polaroids. The woman he loved most, bound to a board. Tears silenced by duct tape. Her blouse and the floor painted with blood. Menstrual blood, he hoped.

His skin nearly broke open when he tried ripping the shackles from the wall. "Where is she?" As if he could get loose to go save her. He thrashed and screamed, and all Harley had to do was step back to avoid being kicked. She laughed at the grown man throwing a tantrum with his fists in the air like a big child.

"Tell me where she is."

Harley shook her tits and drew her skirt up with a twirly finger, to keep his cock hard. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is, whether or not you want to ever see her again." Out of her boot, she aimed a gun for his head. "And whether or not she gets to see you again."

"Go ahead," he instantly demanded, fire rising in his eyes. "Kill me. Torture me. Just let her go."

"Ya half right. Well... a third."

His eyes widened as she retracted the gun. Sweat streamed on his neck. He shouldn't have given her a second option.

She stomped a foot between his legs. "Don't you worry. My boys won't needa do anything, as long as you do something for me."

Watering eyes and watering mouth, he gulped. The way she stood made it hard to not acknowledge the frills on her thong. Her chubby ass poured out of the soiled lace. It was amusing for her to watch him stare intensely to the side. Any glance forward or upward or downward would remind him of what was going on. He hated to ask but he needed to, "Do what for you?"

Her hand clenched his jaw and forced his head straight up. In of the corner of his eye, she crouched down. Something jingled.

She breathed into his ear. Her chomping made spit fly on his face. "Be a good boy for Mommy."

Something tightened around Barry's neck. Leather choked his Adam's apple, while something cold pinched the hairs of his neck. He tried jerking his head, but the damage was already done. He was now owned by Harley.

She towered over him again. "Perfect."

There was nothing for him to say. However his glare said everything. Eyebrows furrowed, a grimace in his eyes, so dirty that actual mud could've been blended in with the sweat.

"Ah ah ah," she said. Her foot kicked his jaw, before stomping down on a photo and grinding it into the ground. "I assume my pet wants his girl to meet his mommy!"

His face fell. It didn't matter that it was impossible without the collar crushing him. The dirty eyes couldn't fight her anymore. The energy it took to be hurt by the statement had already been used in the struggle. A part of him wasn't listening, while the other refused to believe anyone could say such a thing.

"Or... who used to be your mommy." She flicked her wrist. "But it's not a problem, 'cause ya got me."

Maybe if he obeyed, she'd stop running her mouth. Well, obviously, she wasn't going to stop talking anytime soon, but possibly she could be diverted by receiving what she wanted.

"Be as unreasonable as ya want. But we all know who's in control here..."

His head rose slightly, for his mutter to reach her. "You."

Harley guided his head up with her foot. Pussy tingling to hear more.

"You are in control. I-I need to... You deserve my respect. You own me and... I will service you."

She bent over to pat him on the head. After giving a few hard scruffs to his hair, she forced a headband on. Fuzzy ears popped out above his head. Out of her boot came a matching pair of mitts, they cinched tightly to his wrists and were fuzzy with pink pads like a pet's paws.

Feeling the fuzz dig into the sores made the color come back to his face. The realization that this was all actually happening, despite for a good cause, was a huge punch in the gut.

The most mocking, saliva spewing words were screamed into his face. "Is my pet hungry?!"

His shoulders dropped when she unhooked his shackles from the wall. But he wouldn't rest for long. She pushed him out onto his hands and knees.

His wrists shook. Both in fear and inability to support himself. His muscles glossed over in a weakness and his blood vessel seemed to be caked with sludge. His body moved slower than his mind. For once, his metabolism felt the way it did before his powers. The red injection dot in his arm explained it.

A dish was dropped onto the floor a few feet away. Barry knew he better go get it. He lifted his paws one at a time, padding along the dirty floor, with his knees following.

"Nummy nummy!"

The bowl was scarlet, stainless steel. "Babycakes" was carved with a knife. An assortment of dry oat cereal was getting stale as he looked at it. A few pieces had flown onto the floor as it got dropped, and he was sure he'd be expected to eat those as well.

Water splashed as a yellow dish was plopped next to it.

She decided to take a newspaper and roll it up. She'd smack his butt or the back of his head, if he chose to be naughty.

For the life of him, he wasn't hungry enough to do it. It was starting to look like actual dry pet food.

The newspaper smacked him on the butt, making him get closer. He shot a look of disbelief and humiliation up at her, and it turned dirty quickly.

"This don't look like respect to me!" She poked his head with the paper to urge him. "Now get eatin'! We have stuff to do."